My Husband Tattooed His Mistress’ Name

In our seventh year together, Luther Campbell and I chose to tatto each other's names onto our skin.

After the inking got done, I woke up dizzy.

But I noticed the phrase "Phoenix City's Must-Eat List" across my chest.

Watching my face suddenly go dark, tattoo worker Faye Stewart covered her lips and let out a small laugh.

"You rely on a guy anyway, right? Did I mark something wrong?"

I threw the glass right there.

Bits scattered like tiny lights, shooting toward Faye.

The next moment, Luther Campbell rushed inside, nearly running, wrapping her fully in his arms.

He knit his brow at me; impatience pressed in his tone. "Faye is young; she was only kidding. Do you really need to throw a tantrum like this?"

I stared straight at Luther’s loose neckline.

There should’ve been my name there, yet instead, the name "Faye" was carved clearly.

Peeking out, Faye stuck her tongue out, tone childlike. "Brother Luther said he liked how my name sounded last time."

"So I just did a little joke with Brother Luther. Sister won’t be upset, right?"

——

My expression turned cold.

Before I managed to speak, a few of Luther’s buddies walked inside, laughing loudly.

"Bro Luther and Vera are still just as close as always."

"Sure. When Bro Luther chased after Vera before, he laid out a whole rose garden using 99,999 gold roses."

"Seven years married and still getting matching couple tattoos, Bro Luther never lost that care."

"So, what did you two ink?"

Right after those lines, their eyes dropped toward the edge of my shirt.

Smiles froze in an instant.

Their mouths stayed lifted, yet their eyes stiffened hard.

The whole place suddenly went eerily quiet.

Only Faye let out a tiny laugh.

Luther tightened his brow, naturally tugging Faye a little behind him. "Faye, say sorry."

Faye pushed her lips out, barely tossing a simple line, "Sorry, fine?"

She looked up toward me, rolled her eyes fast, whispering low, "It was only a joke, why act so worked up?"

"An old lady really loves a scene."

Softly, Luther tapped her arm, then faced me with a tone like gentle advising.

"Faye realizes she was at fault. Don’t argue with a kid."

"She’s just twenty, thinks simply, speaks straight."

"You’ve always been broad-minded, don’t pressure her."

Each sentence hid like a soft knife.

There he stood, polite and calm, turning clear bias into something that sounded fair.

I let out a short laugh, cold and angry.

"Say sorry?"

"I don’t take it."

Slowly, I drew my neckline together, hiding those shameful five marks.

My fingers pressed into my skin, painful, yet still not as sharp as the ache inside my chest.

At Luther, I looked, speaking slowly, phrase after phrase, "Since you cannot fix this well, I will settle it in my own style."

Then around I turned and stepped away.

When the door closed, faintly I caught voices inside.

"That stare Vera had just then, my spine went cold. She was spoiled by the Kelly family since childhood, when had she ever been shamed like that?"

One person paused, "Faye is hard to deal with; she likely won't drop this."

Luther’s even voice came, sounding sure.

"She won’t. I know Vera, she only spoke from anger, she won't truly do anything toward Faye."

He waited briefly, then said, "Plus, with me guarding her, she cannot act."

Uneasy looks passed among the group.